


Static

by ResidentHesitant



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bruises, Car Chases, Explosions, Love Confessions, Nonbinary Character, Other, Requited Love, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, apparently the third installment of 'party and ghoul talk about feelings', ghoul has not one but TWO rants, relationship advice with show pony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12278964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResidentHesitant/pseuds/ResidentHesitant
Summary: "You two have been acting all stiff around each other all week,” Pony points out.“There’s a good fuckin’ reason for that, dude,” Poison scoffs.“What, did you trip up and tell him you were pining?”“Actually, that’s exactly what I did.”





	Static

“Concept:—” Ghoul says, leaning across the booth, “You—” He points at Poison. “—me.” He points to himself.

“...Go on,” Poison says, raising an eyebrow.

“Twelve remote-activated bombs, the Trans Am, a squad of Dracs spotted in Zone 4 .”

“We’re not blowing up the Trans Am.”

“I wasn't suggesting _that!_ ”

Poison purses their lips, giving Ghoul a Look.

“So it would just be to cause chaos?” they ask, eyebrow raised once more, “‘cause I'm not really up to risking life and limb just for kicks.”

“Well, no.” Ghoul rolls his eyes, looking surly, “They're near a supply station, and we need to go on a run soon, but I wanted to make it more interesting and safer for other crews to…” He trails off, looking slightly embarrassed.

Kobra pokes his head in from the diner kitchen, sunglasses perched on top on his head. “Holy _fuck_ , Ghoul _does_ have a heart!”

“Fuck _OFF_ , Kobra Shit!” Ghoul shouts, as Poison chucks a plastic trinket from the table at their brother's head with a “Stop listening in, jackass!” Kobra laughs, ducking back into the kitchen.

“He's got a theory that we're a thing,” Poison grumbles, rolling their eyes, “Keeps tryin’ to catch us bein’ couple-y or somethin’.” Ghoul snorts, shaking his head.

“He's a kid, let him think what he wants. Probably just wants another reason to make fun of us.” Poison stifled a laugh, before picking up another plastic trinket and examining it. Ghoul sat back in his booth seat. “So, you want to blow some shit up and get supplies or what?”

Poison hummed, considering it. “Yeah, could be fun.” They put the plastic toy back down, looking to Ghoul.

“Let’s bounce, then.”

* * *

 

“Remember that time I told you to trust me, because I’m a weapons expert that ran with one of the most dangerous crews in the zones?” It was hard to hear Ghoul over the sound of tires squealing on cracked pavement.

“Yeah, why?” Poison yells back, shooting a few times out of the driver’s side window, before rapidly turning the wheel to the left, a cloud of dust blooming behind the car. At least six Draculoid squad cars were following them. Mad Gear’s new song blasted from the car radio.

“Just drive faster!” Ghoul shouts, pulling his bandana over his nose and mouth and practically standing up in the passenger’s seat. He fumbles for a moment with the remote to detonate the bombs, jabbing the button several times.

Poison floors it as a squad car gets dangerously close, the speedometer climbing well past 80 miles per hour.

“C’mon, c’mon…” Ghoul growls at the remote, pressing the button harder.

“You didn’t answer my—” The first explosion catches Poison off guard, their eyes widening behind their goggles, but they keep their eyes on the road ahead. The rest go off randomly in rapid succession; the third car, the fifth car, the sixth, the second, the seventh, the fourth. Ghoul whoops triumphantly, but doesn’t sit back down, instead, pulling out his blaster, keeping watch for motorbikes.

Once he can’t hear any other engines, Ghoul sits back down, and Poison slows the car down to a more reasonable 40. They don’t speak. Ghoul turns the radio down. Three miles from the supply station (two from the chase location), Poison slows the car down more, heart still racing, until they roll to a stop under the awning of an abandoned gas station.

It’s quiet, finally. Poison takes the car out of drive, sitting back in the driver’s seat, and lets go of the wheel. They turn to look at Ghoul.

“Hhholy shit,” Ghoul laughs breathlessly, running a hand through his hair. He turns to Poison, grinning, and Poison can’t help but smile back. The laugh just builds, disbelief and adrenaline coursing through the two of them, eyes watering and stomachs clutched.

“We could have _died!_ ” Poison covers their face with their hands, before pushing them up through their hair, head tilting back. They laugh to the ceiling, hands falling back in their lap. The two of them do calm down eventually, laughter turning to small giggles here and there as the sun disappears below the horizon.

“Oh, man,” Ghoul says, still grinning, “That could’a been _it._ ”

“I love you,” Poison suddenly blurts, traces of laughter gone from their expression.

Ghoul sits up a little, blinking. “...What?”

“I—” Poison starts, but bites their lip and looks away, “Nothing.”

“Uh, no?” Ghoul sits forward now, looking to Poison. “No, Party, you definitely just said you loved me.”

“I never said it, if you didn’t want me to.” It was getting dark. Jet and Kobra would start to get worried. “We should head back.” Their tone (quiet, ashamed) made Ghoul drop it, at least for now. Poison started the car, beginning the drive home.

The ride back to the diner was silent, except for the quiet static coming from the radio; whatever station they were on, the show had ended for the night. Ghoul fidgeted in his seat; how do you react when your best friend admits that they love you? Poison just kept their eyes on the road ahead.

The ride home takes longer than expected. They see a Drac car off the side of the road. The ride home takes longer than expected. A neutral town is under lockdown. They have to take a detour to avoid potential fights. The ride home takes longer than expected. Ghoul feels like he’s going to scream. (Poison feels something similar.)

Jet is waiting outside the diner when they get home. He doesn’t look happy. Ghoul is silent as he exits the car, and Poison only mumbles a small apology. They don’t look at each other’s faces as they grab the supplies from the trunk. Bottles and jugs of water. Cans and cans of food. Cookware, lighters, a few pairs of boots, several bolts of fabric.

The storage room isn’t getting crowded, but it feels too small as Ghoul comes in with the last box, as Poison counts what was already stored. They hear Ghoul enter, but don’t turn around. He places the box next to them and finally stands up straight.

“I never said I didn’t want to hear it,” he says quietly. And he leaves.

Poison had already lost count.

* * *

 

Show Pony is the one to point out that Ghoul and Poison were acting differently.

“It’s all kinds of obvious, Party,” they say, leaning forward in the vanity mirror, “You two have been acting all stiff around each other all week.”

“There’s a good fuckin’ reason for that, dude,” Poison scoffs from atop the makeup counter, passing them a half-empty bottle of liquid latex. Pony rolls their eyes, dips their makeup brush in the latex, and then dunks it into a container of dark blue glitter. They begin applying it as a highlight.

“What, did you trip up and tell him you were pining?” they ask, putting the brush down and examining how the glitter looks, “Pass me the tube marked ‘Sonic Scream?’”

Poison looks inside the chaotic makeup bag, locating a red-orange lipstick. “Actually, that’s exactly what I did.” They place the tube next to Pony’s elbow. They look up at Party, surprised.

“Oh, shit.”

“Tell me about it.” Party crosses their legs and sighs, leaning back on their hands, looking at the ceiling. “What’re you gettin’ all dolled up for anyway?”

“Roller derby tonight, baby,” Pony grins, turning to apply the lipstick, “Gotta look good when the helmet comes off.” They pat the baby blue helmet sitting to the right, opposite to where Poison sits. Poison snorts, rolling their eyes. “But your boy trouble is a little more interesting right now.”

“It’s- it’s not boy trouble, it’s just—”

“Honey.” Pony gives them a look not unlike the one Poison had given Ghoul before the supply run. “Party. Motorbaby. He’s a boy, giving you trouble. It’s boy trouble.”

Party sighs; they don’t like admitting when Pony is right, which is often.

“Fine, sure, boy trouble,” they huff, “The- the thing is—”

“Oh?”

“— he- he said something like ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want you to tell me.’” Poison sighs again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Sounds like he likes you back. But, y’know, stronger than that.” Pony shrugs, leaning forward in the mirror again to fix their mascara. Party frowns; Pony makes it sound so simple. It probably _is,_ but that’s beside the point.

“Then why’d he have to get all cagey and weird about it?” Pony shrugs again. This conversation isn’t going to get the two of them any further, Poison realizes. “I should…” they start, before sighing, “I’m not going to bullshit you; I’m just gonna leave. See you around, have fun at the derby.” They hop off the counter, and head for the door.

“Radio me when things are less staticky with your boy!” Pony calls as Poison, shaking their head and smiling slightly, crosses the threshold.

* * *

 

Ghoul feels like he's going to die. It's going on ten days since the supply run, since that confession. He's worried; Party's been going out more and more, coming back later and later. They never come back covered in kiss marks, no, though two nights ago they came back with bruises and a bloody nose.

“Just a fight,” they had muttered, brushing Ghoul aside, “Don’ worry about it.” Ghoul was worrying about it.

Poison goes out just before sunset, taking the motorcycle with them and heading towards Zone 5. Jet is the only one to see them go, and just shakes his head when Ghoul asks if Party had said where they were going.

They all eat in weird silence that night. They’ve been doing that a lot, lately. Kobra gets up once he’s done without a single word, Jet does the same. Ghoul takes first watch, sitting in a diner booth next to a window.

He dozes off after an hour or two.

The thing that wakes him up is headlights. The battery-powered clock on the bar reads 2:54 AM. He blinks awake, yawning, and gets up to get the door.  Outside stands a drained-looking Poison. They have a black eye this time. Lipstick stains their jaw, their collar, a harsh-looking bite clear on their neck. Ghoul gets worried all over again.

“Where have you been?” He doesn’t mean to sound so contentious. He’s never been good with expressing concern.

“Doesn’t matter,” Poison mutters, trying to enter the diner. Ghoul blocks them though, standing in the doorway.

“It does matter! You could have been killed! You don’t tell us where you’re going, you don’t give any explanation, you come back in the middle of the night all beat up!”

“You’re going to wake up Kobra,” Poison says, quietly. They try to push past Ghoul, but Ghoul holds his ground.

“Good! Maybe you’ll explain to _him_ why you’ve been acting like this!”

“Don’t you bring him into this.”

“He’s worried too, asshole! Don’t act like what you’re doing isn’t affecting us!”

“You don’t care,” Poison spits, “I _know_ you don’t care. Don’t act like you do.”

Ghoul takes a step back, shocked, and Poison takes the opportunity to push past him, shoving him into the doorframe with a hand to his chest. He stands there, watching them, not sure how to react. He starts by closing the door. It’s deathly quiet inside the diner; the quiet sounds of crickets and wind outside were too muffled to make a difference. Ghoul takes a deep breath, turning around and taking slow, deliberate steps towards Poison, who sits stressed on a bar stool. He stops a foot away. Poison stands up, taller than Ghoul, but Ghoul couldn’t care less.

“How dare you,” he says, voice low, quiet, dangerous, “How _dare_ you say I don’t care. Do you think you exist all by yourself? That we don’t care about you? That _I_ don’t care about you?” Poison says nothing. Ghoul gets a little closer. “What? You think since I didn’t know what to say in the car that you think I fucking hate you? That I don’t want you around anymore? You fucking _idiot_.” Ghoul feels like he’s going to regret this. He’s almost certain that he’ll regret this.

“Party Poison, you fucking idiot,” Ghoul says again, softer, fonder.

He hopes he won’t regret this.

Ghoul leans forward, taking Poison’s face in his hands, and kisses them. They seem surprised at first, but thankfully ( _thankfully)_ don’t push away. Their hands come up and rest at the base of Ghoul’s neck, one thumb rubbing his jaw, just under his ear, slightly. Nothing feels slow-motion. Nothing feels too good to be true. It feels natural. Ghoul leans forward a little more, Party leans back a little further, back against the counter.

He can taste waxy lipstick on Poison’s lips, probably the same on their neck; he kisses them harder, determined to take the taste away. Ghoul’s not sure how long it’s been. He really doesn’t care. He hasn’t been pushed away yet, at least. Party runs their thumb over the scar on Ghoul’s cheek and he shudders, trying to press closer. One of Ghoul’s hands ends up in Party’s hair, not gripping but still holding firm, prompting a more enthusiastic response from the redhead, kisses becoming open-mouthed and more intense.

It's almost too intense. Ghoul is the one to pull away, panting, and he takes a step back from Poison just to gauge their reaction. To see if he had crossed a line. Party’s face is flushed, panting slightly as well, hair messy from where Ghoul grabbed it, and they grab the edge of the counter to keep themself up. They clear their throat, blinking a few times.

“Well,” they say, “That’s- that’s one way to admit you’re into me.” Party laughs breathlessly, almost relieved, running a hand through their hair, now leaning on the counter again. They look up at Ghoul through the hair falling across their face, eyes glinting and smile crooked.

Ghoul regrets nothing.

* * *

 

4 AM. Jet’s turn to keep watch. Ghoul goes down the hall, knocks on the door marked “Office,” and is soon met by a tired-looking Jet.

“It’s four,” Ghoul says, “Party’s back, too.”

“I heard the bike.” Jet does not look happy about being up. “And you shouting at them.”

“I wasn’t— !” Ghoul whisper-protests, but Jet shakes his head, unimpressed, and goes down into the main diner to take watch without another word. Ghoul sighs and turns to go to his “room,” an unusually large closet now outfitted with battery-powered lights if he needed and what Kobra called a “shitload” of blankets. He’s half-settled in when he sees Poison hesitating at the other end of the hall as they slip into the storage space that serves as their and Kobra’s room. Ghoul frowns, getting up and shuffling down the hall to follow them.

It’s dark. That’s to be expected; general storage has no windows. Neither does the walk-in freezer, no longer cold but still quiet. Ghoul knocks softly on the door, not wanting to wake Kobra. His shouting didn’t, though, so Ghoul was probably safe. After a moment, Poison opens the door, backlit by multi-colored string lights found in an old department store forever ago.

“Hey,” they say softly, casually rubbing sleep from one eye.

“Hey,” Ghoul repeats, “Can I- can we talk?”

Admittedly, that was probably not the best thing for Ghoul to say with the way Poison seemed to tense, their eyes widening just a little bit.

“...Sure.”

They turned around but left the door open; Ghoul followed and shut it behind him. He walked into the little room — smaller than Jet’s but bigger than Kobra’s or Ghoul’s — and glanced towards Party. They looked wary, cautious, sitting on their makeshift bed and twirling a lock of hair around one finger anxiously, not looking at Ghoul. Ghoul sat down across from them on the bed.

“What did you want to talk about?” They were still looking away.

“All of this? This whole— the mess that we’re in right now with, like, feelings.” Wow, that sounded fucking dumb. Ghoul curses himself internally. Party lets out a little huff of a laugh, glancing over to Ghoul now, a small smile clear on their face; Ghoul feels his heart beat a little faster.

“Yeah, sure. We can talk about that.”

Oh thank fuck. Ghoul mentally wipes his brow.

“So, the whole… thing.” Yeah, good start, genius. “The supply run. Us, going on the supply run. You kinda… y’know...” Ghoul gestures vaguely, not sure of what to say. “You know.”

“Mhm.”

“And you know I’m not good with words.”

“I know.”

“So- so what I’m trying to- to say is—” Ghoul does his best to not further tear the worn hem of his sleep shirt; he isn’t doing particularly well. He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to say when you said you loved me. And- and _yeah_ , I said some cryptic shit later on that was _kinda_ me confessing but it was fucking _stupid_ and probably what made you get all cagey and weird and go out all the time to get your mind off it but what I'm trying to say is that care about you but I'm total _shit_ at expressing it and I don't want you getting hurt but then you come back and it’s three in the fucking morning and you're all beat up and—” With his words getting faster and faster, Ghoul pauses. He takes another deep breath and lets it out in a frustrated huff, now staring at his hands in his lap. “You’re dumb. You’re dumb and stupid and I love you. Stop doing stupid shit. Fucker.”

He can feel his face burning. He glances up at Party, all red hair and gleaming eyes, softly lit by all those string lights. He fidgets in place; the torn hem of his sleep shirt tears more. Party looks like they want to speak, but can’t find the right words.

“I…” Poison starts, “Shit, Ghoul, I—” They laugh quietly, but their grin looks more like a grimace as they push their hair back. “I’m such a fuckin’ idiot,” they murmur, shaking their head, elbow on knee, palm on forehead.

Ghoul snorts. “Ain’t that what I just told you?” He scoots forward as well, knees now touching Poison’s.

“No, no, I’m really fuckin’ dumb, Ghoul,” Poison says, “You guys looked all worried when I came back after that fight and I kept goin’ out like everything was fine.”

“They’ll be worried when they see this—” Ghoul gently touches the bruise under Party’s eye; they wince, but don’t move. “— as well. What happened?”

“ ‘nother fight.” Party shrugs, turning away and rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly. “Some makin’ out, some fighting. Booked it back here after.”

They’re both quiet for some time.

“Hey,” Ghoul says, nudging Poison’s knee with his own, “Y’know what this all means?”

Poison snorts under their breath. “Means Kobra’s gonna kick your ass when he finds out.”

“Patch me up when he’s done?”

Poison laughs quietly again, leaning in to peck Ghoul on the cheek.

“You know it, doll.”

**Author's Note:**

> i blushed so much trying to write the kissing scene im dumb  
> please comment and leave kudos if you liked it!  
> find me on tumblr @probablypartypoison


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